


A Different Kind of Music, or The Sounds of Life

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Happy Ending, Louisiana, M/M, Music, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Gene loved music, and he made music constantly.OR: The fluffiest BabeRoe post-war fluff. Involves lots of Gene and lots of ways to make music.





	A Different Kind of Music, or The Sounds of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing to feed my headcanon that Gene Roe loves to sing. Because all Cajuns love music.

Gene loved music, and he made music _constantly._

He would hum to himself early in the morning. If it was a weekday, he would hum as he brushed his teeth and combed his hair before work, tossing the occasional wink to Babe in the bathroom mirror. On Saturdays, he would hum from the rocking chair on the front porch, watching the sun rise elegantly over the bayou with a steaming cup of chicory coffee on hand.

When he cooked, the Cajun would sing a little song or two as he rolled biscuits on the kitchen table or fried bits of alligator in the skillet. In the evenings, he would sing all through the night, crooning along with Frank Sinatra and Perry Como on the radio, dragging Babe to his feet for a dance every now and again. On Sundays, he would belt out a hymn or gospel song for the folks down at the church.

If they went for a stroll along the water, Gene would whistle out a melody and wait for the frogs and cicadas and crickets to match his tune, his hand firmly clasped in Babe’s all the while. Once a week when their sleepy little town gathered for a bonfire or potluck dinner, he would snatch up his acoustic guitar and strum out a handful of songs for the kiddies and couples to dance to. On such nights when his guitar wasn’t on hand, the young Cajun would saddle up next to Charles Beauregard as the old man plucked at his fiddle, Gene clapping and tapping his foot along to the rhythm with an endless enthusiasm.

Gene loved music, and he made music _constantly,_ and so Babe learned to tune his life according to the soundtrack that Gene made. Soon, Babe’s life was set to the musical stylings of one Eugene Roe, and Babe loved the music that Gene made. The whistling, the humming, the singing, the guitar strumming, the foot-tapping and hand-clapping—Babe loved it all. But the sounds that Babe loved best made a different kind of music entirely.

Babe loved the sweet little gasp Gene would utter when Babe caught the tender flesh of Gene’s neck between his teeth or took him by surprise for a quick kiss in the kitchen, hips pressed to hips pressed to countertop. Babe loved the growls of pleasure Gene would emit as the Cajun pressed him into their mattress, hips rolling and lips gaping. Babe loved the pounding of Gene’s racing heart when, afterward, he laid with his ear to the Cajun’s chest, their bodies slick with sweat and tingling with satisfaction.

Gene loved music, and he made music constantly, and Babe loved Gene, and that’s just how it was.  


End file.
